


time, and time again.

by falconeggs



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dreams, Fluff, History, M/M, Time Skips, True Love, this is just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 21:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falconeggs/pseuds/falconeggs
Summary: Before this life, David and Patrick have loved each other many times over, and will love each other when this life comes to an end.Or, the reincarnation fic I asked myself for.





	time, and time again.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know why I wrote this! I just know I had a good time doing it, and have a lot of very random tabs open on my browser, including, but not limited to, Mesopotamia, the Hurrian songs, and common names of the 1800’s. There is some character death? Because? It’s an incarnation fic? I tried to keep it light and pretty, I can’t write angst to save my life. It sucked, switching back and forth between verb tenses, so if you see any lil mistakes, please forgive me. If you wanna hang, or hear about all my other ideas for this au, my tumblr is @focksii. Enjoy!

Many years ago, when the driest lands were wet, and the wettest lands still rested underwater, when there were many kinds of men and the corners of the world were left untouched, the first real ounce of true love was found. The largest tribe at that point in time wandered the territories, gathering what they could, hunting what they needed to. A lone traveler stumbled across the tribe, carrying with him a hollowed husk of a big fruit, strung tightly to make music. The tribe had never seen anything like it before, and he played such lovely sounds on his instrument. His kind eyes and stories got him an invitation to join the nomadic peoples, but it was the Chief’s son that convinced him to stay.

While, at first, the Chief’s son didn’t appreciate the way the wanderer teased him, he couldn’t help the fluttering in his chest every time the wanderer was near. The wanderer spent his moments hoping to make the Chief’s son smile, to watch his eyes light up. The nights where the moon bloomed in the sky, and the stars danced in her wake, the two men would sneak a few yards away from the tribe, relishing in private moments and in each other.

When the early winter extended into springtime, they kept each other warm. Their love kept the two warmer than any furs or fires could. When summer never came, and the Chief feared that the tribe would freeze, the wanderer would sing songs for his new people around a roaring fire, to keep them safe, to keep them together.

Others weren’t so protected from the age of ice and snow. One evening, when the sun was setting and the sky was cast in pinks and purples, an old woman waded through the snow into the camp, seeking shelter. The wanderer brought her into his own hut and gave her some of his food. The Chief’s son convinced his father to allow the old woman to stay, at least until the long winter was over. The Chief agreed, and she joined their tribe. The kindness that the wandering man extended to the old woman spread to the Chief’s son, and then to the rest of the tribe. The old woman spent the rest of her days with the tribe, tending to meals and healing wounds. While she was rough, and could be cruel, she always had a soft spot for the Chief’s son and his wanderer. She never had children of her own, but she liked to think of them as her sons.

When she grew too old and weary to move with the tribe, they stayed with her, until her eyes closed forever. The last thing she did, before she crossed the threshold into the long night, was whisper her truth to the two men she loved as her own. She was a witch, a long time ago. She could see time in the stars, and in their eyes. She knew that their love would only bloom, and remain true through time, that they would always find each other. She died with that promise on her lips.

For the rest of their lives, they carried her memory in their hearts. When the time came for the Chief’s son to take his father’s place, to lead their tribe into the next wave of life, his wanderer planted his feet at the new Chief’s side, wandering with his tribe to new lands. Their love got stronger with time, with affection and loyalty only growing as they aged slowly. 

And when it was time to cross into the next life, for the next adventure, the two crossed together, and found each other, again and again.

-

David sits in a box seat beside his father at a Toronto Blue Jays game. Johnny Rose is invested in the game, watching each player closely for any details that could sway the game one way or the other. David doesn’t care for baseball, not since he was forced into Little League and got hit with the ball a hundred times. He honestly can’t believe he got dragged here. He doesn’t even know what team the Jays are playing against. His friends had abandoned him for the weekend, and his mother was shooting on location, and Alexis was more annoying than she was fun these days; were all eight year olds so obnoxious? David’s only option for the day, as he was given literally no other options, was going with his father to the game.

It was one long, boring mistake. Sitting at home, alone, would have been better than going to a stupid baseball game. At least David remembered his Gameboy. After the first two innings, Johnny got over asking David to turn off the game; it was not the hill he’d die on.

However, after a few more excruciatingly long innings, David finds even his Gameboy is unenthralling. Looking down over the edge of the railing, David feels like a prince, gazing upon his kingdom. His subjects have food in their hands that is, apparently, beneath being served in the box. David’s mouth waters at the sight of a hot dog.

“Dad,” he says, thwacking his hand against his dad’s arms to pull his attention from the field.

“Huh?” Johnny grunts, glancing to his son, briefly. “What is it, son?”

“Can I have some money?” David asks, as politely has he can manage, to inspire a positive response. “I want to buy some food.”

“There’s food here,” Johnny says, half-distracted.

David rolls his eyes. “But I want a hot dog,” he whines, sagging in his seat.

Johnny can’t watch his son want for long. He reaches into his wallet and hands David a few bills, to go pick out whatever he wants. Like a shot, David is out of the box to wander the halls of the stadium and stretch his legs. He looks at the freakfest around him, the sea of willing baseball fans David isn’t sure he’ll ever relate to.

David finds a hot dog vendor after a few minutes. He stands in line by himself,because he’s not a little kid anymore, he’s a tall, almost-thirteen year old with very adult-looking glasses. He doesn’t need his dad to stand in line with him, not like the little boy behind him does. A quick downwards glance at said little boy has David noticing that he and his father are in matching Blue Jays shirts. David cannot physically stop his face from crumpling, which only makes the little boy laugh.

The line slowly marches forward. David orders himself the biggest hot dog they have, a box of Cracker Jacks, and a soda that could probably hold half of his body weight. The bored cashier waves him aside so he can wait for his food, handing him the Cracker Jacks.

The little boy who was standing in line behind David puts his hands on the counter to smile at the cashier. “Dad, can I get Cracker Jacks, too?” He asks, looking up at his father.

“Oh, sorry,” the cashier apologizes. “That was my last box.”

David looks down at the box in his hands. He doesn’t know why he bought them, he doesn’t really want them that bad, except for, maybe, the prize inside. The little boy, probably only about ten years old, looks at David and gives him a little smile. It’s the first time David ever thought of a person as adorable, usually assigning that adjective to his Furby collection.

The boy and his father step aside after they order. Something inside David feels stinky, and it’s an unfamiliar feeling. He huffs softly, then steps over to them. David taps on the boy’s shoulder to get his attention. “Here,” He says, roughly shoving the Cracker Jacks into the boy’s hands.

The boy turns his eyes up to David, wide and excited. They’re dark brown, almost like David’s own, but are warmer in tone and feeling. “Really?” He asks, his little voice full of wonder.

“Yeah, just take it,” David says, not enjoying the strange, twisting feeling in his guts. He can’t be in this little boy’s open, honest gaze any longer. He snatches a hot dog off the counter, probably not intended for him, and he takes it and his giant soda to the condiment table, away from that boy and his big, dumb, doe eyes.

As he’s directly in the middle of applying his relish to his hot dog, David feels a tap on his back. He turns around, then looks down at the little boy.

“Uh, excuse me?” The boy asks, extremely politely.

“Yeah?” David asks, impatiently. He’s in the middle of a very important process, thank you very much.

The little boy holds out the sticker that came in the box of Cracker Jacks, offering it to David. “Thank you for giving me your Cracker Jacks,” he says, smiling like it naturally sits on his face. “Everyone buys ‘em for the prize, so I thought you should have it.”

David is caught completely off guard. It might be the nicest thing to have ever happened to him, which would be pathetic if his heart didn’t feel like it was going to explode. David takes the sticker from the boy and does his best to smile. “Thanks,” he says, softly. “Uh. Enjoy the game? Go Jays.”

The little boy grins wickedly, like he knows David was dragged here against his will, and that he enjoys that fact. He runs back to his father, and he hoists his son into his back so they can return to their seats. David stands there, among the condiments, feeling surprisingly warm and fuzzy. He only takes the briefest of moments to compose himself before going back up to the box with his hot dog, extra-large soda, and his sticker, stored safely in his pocket.

He thinks about the little boy for the rest of the game, and then on the ride back home. He puts the sticker in his journal, unstickied, for safe keeping. He keeps it there for the remainder of the journal, and transfers it into the next one.

That night, David has a very vivid dream.

-

The oldest song ever written down was a simple tune about the wife of the moon god. It’s a four-lined song with the first line repeated at the end. It transformed into various songs, through the years, but the first time it was sang was thousands of years ago. What was discovered, scribbled in a long-dead language, roughly translated, is thought to be proof of dedication to spiritual beliefs. Historians don’t know who wrote the first song.

The truth is that the song was written for a less literal moon, by a man who loved him through many ages before this one. The story begins long before the song was ever written, in the writer’s youth.

He was once a young merchant’s apprentice. The merchant he worked for was good friends with a rich man who had a beautiful boy as his servant. The apprentice and the servant fell madly in love, sneaking off in any spare moment they could. They promised each other forever, but it was a promise they couldn’t keep.

The servant boy was sold to pay off his master’s debts. The apprentice never got a chance to say goodbye to his great love. They didn’t see one another for many years, and it was a great surprise when they met again.

The apprentice became the merchant, and through the years, he became quite wealthy, and very prominent among the people. As a high member of society, he was invited, one evening, to a party of a noble family. One of the Lord’s daughters married a Prince, and the newly-wedded couple were being celebrated.

After all the guests had arrived at the party, the Prince and the new Princess were presented to the people. The doors swung open, and out stepped the Prince and Princess, and the merchant couldn’t believe his eyes. The longer he stared, the more he was sure: that Prince was the beautiful servant boy he lost so many years ago. He knew it to be true with everything in him.

The merchant forced his way through the crowd until he was right in front of the Prince. As soon as they locked eyes, the Prince knew who he was looking at. All the memories of their love came pouring back. The Prince politely excused himself from his bride and his company, dragging the merchant away so they can try and fill in the long gap between their previous interaction and this one.

The King and Queen purchased the young servant boy because of his uncanny looks to the Prince, their son, who was deathly ill. Every doctor, surgeon, healer, and holy worker had said there was no chance the unwell Prince would survive. In his final days, laying in his bed, the servant boy took the Prince’s place, learning etiquette and culture. The servant held the seat of the Crown Prince, and the kingdoms were none the wiser. Now, the false Prince had followed through with an old betrothal. Though the new Princess had met the first Prince many times in their youth, she didn’t notice that the man she married was not the boy she’d once vaguely known.

The two spent the entire night reconnecting, talking about every moment that passed since their last meeting. Their hands brushed as they walked the grounds of the Lord’s manor. Each tree large enough to hide behind bore witness to tender kisses, attempting to make up for lost time. The hours ticked by too quickly, and the Prince had to return to his new bride.

As much as it pained the merchant to see his beloved married to another, it pained him even more to stay away. The Princess either never noticed, or never cared about her husbands affair. The people were thankful that a man they could trust had the ear of the Crown Prince. But they could never share their love. Their romance was hidden behind locked doors, and was full of lingering looks across grand rooms.

The merchant, one night, at a festival celebrating the moon god, sang the song he’d written for the Prince before the whole kingdom. The song was the first earworm, sung over and over by even those who didn’t attend the party. Many more verses were written, by hundreds of others, but the song the merchant sang for his Prince was the version etched into a clay tablet. Now, the song hasn’t been sung in over a thousand years. The translation of the song is extremely rough, as the language is long-dead, and there aren’t words in English to exactly represent the lyrics.

“The moon has a bride who is blinded in his light. // She’s not tall enough to see the truth in his eyes. // She loves how her husband holds the world in his hands. // I love the moon for his hold on me. // The moon has a bride who is blinded in his light.”

It also rhymes in the original Amorite.

-

There are a million places David Rose would rather be than some bullshit celebration party for a Rose Video store out in the suburbs. Why should he have to care about late fees, or candies sold, or whatever it is his dad has decided to congratulate them on? Spoiler alert, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to be here. Alexis fucked off somewhere on the private jet, which meant David was stuck at home, and got roped into attending this extremely lame party.

Everyone here is about as bland as unflavored oatmeal. It’s mostly a bunch of guys in business suits, and geeky employees hovering around. There’s only one person in attendance that’s of mild interest: one of the teens who probably works part-time, after school. This particular boy isn’t as pimple-faced as the other geeks, and he’s been checking his watch every five minutes. With nothing better to occupy his time, David makes his way over to the young man who only looks more and more familiar to him as time passes.

“Somewhere better to be?” He asks, as nonjudgmentally as he can.

The teen looks surprised that David is talking to him at all, but smiles bashfully. “Uh, yeah,” he admits. “My friend, from my baseball team, his parents are out of town, so he’s throwing a party. I promised I’d help, but, uh. My manager-.” He points a thumb in the direction of some late twenty-something that David doesn’t actually care about.

“What, you had to be at this stupid party, instead?” David barks in disgust. Then again, David’s here, too. “Well, that’s refreshingly honest of you. I don’t think your presence would be missed.”

The guy chuckles and bobs his head. “Yeah, I think I’ve made enough of an appearance,” he agrees. “Uh, if you wanna come-?”

David snorts. “To your suburban high school party with all your baseball bros?” He sneers. “Hard pass, thanks so much.”

The guy smirks at David, like they know each other. Do they? This conversation feels more normal and casual than David’s had in a while. It feels like falling back into a familiar rhythm. “Well, enjoy this rager,” he teases.

“Believe me, I’ll be making my exit shortly,” David informs. This guy, whoever he is, is the most interesting person at this party, and he’s about to leave. David has no interest in staying longer than he has to. “Set the record on the keg stand, or whatever.”

They guy chuckles again. No one has ever been so obviously amused by David before. Usually, the people he talked to found him to be grating and offensive. “Thanks, man,” the teen says. “See ya.” With that, he makes his exit.

“Doubtful,” David sighs to himself.

David leaves the party ten minutes later.

-

The trembling of the earth was not uncommon. The young priest of Apollo had known his entire life, living in the shadow of Vesuvius, that the earth trembles, that the gods, when unhappy, made the earth shake. The tremors that morning, though, felt different. The temple trembled through morning prayers, and then through breakfast. When the priests took their morning break, and the young priest, Philo, was allowed out on the grounds, he watched as the tip of the great mountain split open and spewed ash.

Fear seeped through him as he watched the sky begin to turn black in angry plumes. For a few moments, all he could do was stare, open-mouthed. What could have made the gods so angry? Philo couldn’t be sure, and he hadn’t the time to wonder. Every part of him needs to move. Without so much as a second glance to his fellow priests, Philo ran to town as fast as his thin legs could carry him.

He weaved through the crowded streets, packed with panic, fighting to find the library. Mothers and children beg him for help, but he has no answers. Apollo had no aid for him now, aside from speed, to make it to the library in a timely manner.

As soon as the doors to the library slammed behind him, he ran through the atrium, attempting to find his beloved, the scholar who protected the knowledge that this city kept. “Marius!” The young priest cried, no longer concerned with how polite he should be. “Marius!”

“Philo!” He heard from up on the balcony. Philo stopped and looked up, and there was his beautiful scholar, with far too much worry in his face. Philo sighed in relief, pleased that he was okay, aside from the concern etched in his face.

Before he knew what he was doing Philo was on the move. As soon as his feet moved, Marius was moving too. They ran toward each other, meeting at the foot of the stairs, collapsing into the other’s arms. “Oh, you’re okay,” he sighed in relief, holding Marius as tightly as he could.

“What’s happening out there?” Marius whispered, right into Philo’s ear.

Philo had to take a breath, shaking his head. He honestly has no idea what was happening out there. “The mountain shook,” he explained, breathlessly. “It broke open and filled the sky with these awful black clouds. Everyone is afraid.”

Marius pulled back to look over Philo’s face, wanting to comfort his lover, but he couldn’t seem to shake his own fear. Marius’ fingers traced over the lines of Philo’s cheek, and he smiled, weakly. “We’ll be safe here,” he promised in a whisper, though he had no way of keeping that promise. As Philo nodded in trust, Marius takes his hands and leads him up the stairs to the windows that face their mountain. Their footsteps echoed in the silence of the library, dulled by the sounds of destruction and despair outside.

It was far worse than they thought. The sky was getting as dark as night, with little flakes of horrific snow beginning to drift down onto the city. The ground trembled again, and the rows of books rattled softly, threatening to topple. Though Philo caught his breath, his sweat continued to gather on his brow. He was sweltering under his robes, and he could see Marius’ sweat, shining against his fair skin.

“It’s not fair,” Philo whispered, every bit a petulant child. “I’ve only just found you, and now, this?”

Marius tsk’d, softly, turning his gaze from the horror show descending on the city and to his love. “I’m glad I found you at all,” he murmurs, softly. “You and I both know that this isn’t our end.”

Philo gave Marius a bewildered look, a wildness in his dark brown eyes that the scholar hadn’t seen before. “Tell that to them,” he said, pointing forcefully to the people who took residence in the path of the volcano. With every passing moment, they could both feel the air getting hotter and hotter, too thick to breathe correctly.

Marius took Philo’s hand, pointed to the homes being destroyed, and brought it to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly. “If this is the last few moments I have, I don’t want them to be in fear and anger,” Marius sighed, his eyes meeting Philo’s. It forced Philo’s mouth shut, his teeth clacking on impact. “I want to share my life with you, what little life that may be.”

Philo supposed that, perhaps, he could set aside his fear to have a few, happy minutes with the love of his life before he had to begin his blind search all over again. “You’re too smart for your own good,” he whispered, reaching up to pull Marius closer.

With a soft smile, Marius leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Philo’s stubbled cheek, his dimpled chin, his soft lips. “Well, the likes of you could never love some oaf,” he teased, gently. “I must shine in some capacity, in order to win your affections.”

Philo rolled his eyes, in an attempt to pretend that he wasn’t as affected by his lover’s words. “And shine you do,” he said, as offhandedly as he could. It only succeeded in making Marius grin wildly at Philo. “And, as we’re on the subject, you know that you have far more than my affections.” He looked away quickly, overwhelmed by his own emotions. The window bore a ghastly sight. He couldn’t bear the sight of oncoming doom.

Marius, always so perceptive when it comes to his love, wrapped an arm around Philo’s shoulders and ushered him away from the window, toward his small quarters. Marius left the door ajar, hoping it might save them from the heat, at least for a while. As soon as they were inside, Philo’s eyes darted around the room, at the irregular untidiness of the small quarters.

“Were you packing?” Philo asked, turning to face Marius.

“Just a few things,” Marius explained, looking down bashfully. “My intention was to take what I thought we might need, then find you at the temple. I hoped we might escape. It seems so foolish now.”

It was, indeed, foolish to think they could’ve outrun the eruption. Foolish, but insufferably sweet. Philo took a few short steps towards Marius, one hand extended. Marius quickly took his love’s hand. “Have we ever run away together?” He asked, softly.

Marius smiled faintly, his free hand reaching up to stroke his lover’s cheek. “No, we never have,” he remembered, just as quietly.

Philo leaned into Marius’ touch. He may not have enjoyed sweating so profusely, but the comfort of Marius’ hand on his cheek outweighed it all. “I would run anywhere with you,” he murmured. He rolled his eyes, slightly, backtracking. “Not actually run, but, you understand my meaning.”

Marius chuckled in fond amusement. His thumb brushed over the highest point of Philo’s cheek. He didn’t mind the idea of his great love being the last sight he ever saw. “Where shall we run to?” He asked.

Philo smirked, just barely, through one side of his mouth. “Somewhere cold,” he decided, firmly. “Lots of ice.”

Marius’ brows raised in continued amusement. “Yes, it’s getting far too warm,” he agreed, trying to keep everything as light as he can. Their upcoming end was depressing enough. “Such a delicate thing as you must be sweltering. Perhaps you should disrobe.”

Philo’s grin only grew, dimpling one cheek. “Is this your way of getting me naked?” He asked, but he was already removing the sash keeping his robes closed. The linen dropped to the floor with a heavy swoosh.

Marius’ eyes wandered over the exposed, shining skin. “Call it a dying man’s last request,” he said, as lightly as he could. He met Philo’s eyes and smiled softly.

“Well, as long as we’re getting last requests,” Philo said, reaching out to grab hold of Marius’ tunic, “I demand you shed your layers as well.”

“Demand,” Marius repeated, amusement lilting his voice. He pulled off his outer robe and tossed it away. “Well, if my love demands it.” The next to go was his vest, gone as quickly as his robe. He was just as quick to pull off the final layer of his tunic, letting Philo look him over. “Is this to your liking?”

Philo licked his lips in an attempt to pull himself together. “That’s suitable, I suppose,” he agreed, meeting Marius’ eyes. He reached up to grasp Marius’ bare shoulders, pulling them closer. “Though the removal of your trousers would be preferable.”

“Would it?” Marius continued to tease, taking the final step towards Philo, their bare torsos brushing together.

With a wide grin, Philo wrapped his arms around Marius’ shoulders, pressing their bodies together. “It would,” he whispered. “Where are the other scholars?”

Marius smirked. “I imagine they’re reading their favorite books right about now,” he contemplated before leaning in the last inch to kiss his lover.

It was too hot, the air was too thick to do anything but exchange careful kisses. The beds belonging to all scholars who lived at the library were small, but Philo certainly didn’t mind being close to Marius. After a while, he heat from Marius’ body was comforting, almost cooling, compared to the air around them.

“I can’t remember boiling to death before,” Philo whispered, as gently as he could.

Marius let out a soft chuckle against Philo’s cheek. “No, this one may be the worst yet,” he agreed. They were still so young; in most of their lives, they grew into old men at each other’s side. “Perhaps the next life will be kinder.”

“From your lips, to the gods’ ears,” Philo murmured with a soft smile. “Though I cannot complain that I’m still young and beautiful as we lay at this end.”

Marius huffed softly with a roll of his eyes. “That isn’t as comforting as you hope it is,” he mumbled, quietly. “It makes this all the more tragic.”

Philo’s hand reached up between them, his fingers brushed against Marius’ chin affectionately. “You, of all people, should know that a little tragedy makes the story all the more rich,” he murmured. Marius ducked his head, kissing Philo’s fingers reverently. Philo smiled faintly at his lover, memorizing his features for the millionth time. He always looks sort of the same, with soft features and softer eyes, with calloused hands but a gentle touch. Each time, Philo, and all incarnations of him, thinks the present version is the most handsome, and then, in the next life, is blown away by his beauty. “What do you think will happen in the next life?”

Marius smiled, his eyes falling shut as his body strains against the heat. “You will be as rich and powerful as you are beautiful,” he predicted, quietly. “You’ll come from an important family, and I will be a no one who catches your attention.” He only repeated the story he knew, a scholar until the very end. He predicted only what he knew was true in all their lives. Philo huffed softly at his response, so Marius opened his eyes to admire his love again. “We will remember everything. We’ll fall even more madly in love with each other. We’ll be happy together. I will love you more than the waking world.”

“Optimist,” Philo accused, but, he had to admit, he liked the sound of all of that.

Marius smiled as he leaned in to capture Philo’s lips in a soft kiss. His eyes fluttered shut, sighing against his lover’s lips. Philo let his eyes wander over Marius’ face, taking in the peaceful look. Philo, himself, was horribly uncomfortable in the heat and smog, but Marius looked perfectly content for a nap, aside from his sweat.

“I will love you, too,” Philo promised, knowingly. It was his unavoidable truth. “I will from the first moment I see you. I always do.”

Marius smiled faintly, his eyes not opening, though they crinkled around the corners in fondness. “Always?” He asked. “From first sight?”

Philo nodded. He nudged himself impossibly closer to Marius, their noses brushing. “Every time,” he confirmed. “Though, sometimes, I don’t know what it is at first. You may have to extend me a little patience.”

Marius let out a soft chuckle. He nestled against Philo’s nose, not minding the heat of his skin or breath so much. “The same goes for me, too,” he sighed. “First sight. Every time.”

Philo smiled. His eyes were getting so heavy, but he couldn’t allow himself to close them. He knew they wouldn’t open again, and he was nowhere near ready to look away from his beloved Marius. There was nothing more magical or beautiful than seeing Marius so closely. The only way it could’ve been better is if Marius’ warm, brown eyes were open. He thought, and not for the first time, about how lucky he was to have Marius, in all forms.

Philo watched Marius’ breathing get shallower. His own lungs struggled to take in the air. He felt like his lungs were burning with every inhale. He was inspired to continue breathing, to make sure he never left Marius alone.

It could’ve been hours or minutes, but Marius spoke again. “Philo?” He mumbled, testing to see if Philo was still there, or if he’d moved on to their next adventure.

“Hmm?” Philo hummed, his eyes drooping. He touched Marius’ cheek with the barest of touches. His skin felt cool compared to the sweltering heat around them.

“Come with me,” Marius slurred, his voice not more than a quiet croak. He almost sounded afraid, like he didn’t want to go anywhere Philo wasn’t also going. Had either of them had the strength, they would have looked out of the doorway of the little dormitory and seen ash start to pile up inside the library. They didn’t have the strength to look, to face their own horror. All Philo could see was Marius’ breathing get more and more shallow. He could feel the shortening breaths against his face.

Philo smiled softly, his eyes slowly closing once more. “I’m right behind you,” he promised. His hand tangled in with Marius’, squeezing as tightly as he could, which wasn’t very tight at all.

Marius relaxed, and took one last breath, and slowly let it out. Philo sighed, and followed suit.

-

He’s sure that this all has to be some strange coincidence, but it’s not. He’d noticed, when he’d walked into Rays for his incorporation papers, that his wallpaper looked especially springy, but he pretended he didn’t notice.

David meets this guy, who basically told him his entire business plan was bad, and then he starts having these insanely vivid dreams again. Dreams are supposed to be half-remembered and fragmented, but David wakes from his with a chill on his skin and the smell of campfires in his nose. The dream feels too real, more alive than real life. The last time he’d had a dream so vibrant was over ten years ago. It’d been so long since David dreamt of an endless, bitter cold, made warmer by an unfamiliar feeling in his chest, he’d nearly forgotten that he’d ever had the dreams at all.

The first time he had the dreams was the week after this awful baseball game David was forced to go to. Each night, he was told a love story. They were beautiful, romantic stories, set all throughout time. David had wanted to remember every little detail about the dreams, and wrote them relentlessly in his journals, marked with a sticker from a Cracker Jacks box he never got to eat. The dreams lasted about two weeks, then faded quickly until his dreams turned back into weird snippets of his subconscious. His mother thought he was being dramatic, and Alexis told him that puberty was making him weird, so he stopped bringing it up. The dreams launched him into a lifetime love of romantic movies, in attempt to recreate how beautiful those dreams were.

It happened again, after his dad forced him to go to that terrible Rose Video party. The first night was the same, telling the same first story, as if to remind him of what he already learned. The next morning, he decided to attend every event his father invited him to. For the three nights after that, David got new stories, one of an extravagant lifestyle, one of terrible sadness, and one where they lived a normal, happy life. Then, they stopped, and David missed them. He wished that they’d come back, but they didn’t. Not for over fifteen years.

He wakes very early in the morning. His eyes snap open to the stained, asbestos ceiling tiles, still shadowed from the early morning and the shades being drawn. Alexis, in the next bed, is still snoring softly. David pulls his duvet up to his chin, to block the intense cold he’d felt in the dream.

It was the same as the first nights he’d started to have the dreams, all those years ago. Being back in those old, frozen times felt like going back to his favorite park that he hadn’t been to since he was a little kid. He was the Chief’s son, welcoming a kind wanderer into his tribe, all over again. He faced the Ice Age with the strength of true love at his side. He was madly in love with warm, brown eyes and a smooth song. Even now, as he’s awake and staring at the splotches on the ceiling, he can feel the warm hand of the old woman on his arm, promising him the same, perfect love through many lifetimes.

The shapes on the ceiling offer exactly no help for this strange, emotional predicament. David lays in bed, playing the dream over and over in his head. Every detail is the exact same, it all played out in the same way he forgot that he’d thoroughly memorized.

“What the fuck,” David breathes to himself. Alexis turns in her sleep.

After a few minutes, after the chill of the dream wears off, and sleep refuses to return, David gets out of bed and goes to take a shower.

The morning carries on as usual, with his parents nagging them about the car and the dumb sign-out sheet. David takes the keys and drags his sister with him to pick up products from a very kind, if not a bit enthusiastic, local skincare manufacturer. He regrets inviting Alexis along when she refuses to help him load the car, and then wonders what sort of chaos he instilled in a past life to deserve her as a sister when she refuses to help him unload the car.

He frustratedly leaves the front of the store to go get the hand cream, but Alexis was absolutely right, that box is, like, fifty-three pounds, and David wishes he had a little help. Just a little. Just, like, one little morsel of help from Alexis would be great.

The boxes glower right back at David. Just as he wonders if any of this would even worth it, he hears Alexis talking to someone. It’s just the right distraction to pull David from the mountain of boxes. David walks back to the main room from the back, and there’s that guy from Ray’s, Patrick, flirting with Alexis. Or, he’s being flirted with by Alexis.

And surprise of all surprises, David actuallygets the little bit of help he needs, the help he’d been praying for. Patrick doesn’t complain once about the weight of the boxes, or sample any unopened products, or ask to have his own line of festival wear under the Rose Apothecary brand. He just helps out, and smiles at David in a way that makes David’s stomach twist.

That night, David gets a new, vivid dream, of another beautiful love story that he commits to memory. It has David feeling hopeful in the morning. Something new is blooming in David, something he doesn’t recognize. It’s almost like confidence or comfort, maybe a mix of the two and a dash of something else.

What was even more surprising than everything else combined was Patrick coming back the next day, and offering his services as a permanent helping hand.

“Oh, I’m gonna get the money,” Patrick says, and the look in his eye is so familiar, though David knows he’s never seen it before.

-

When Charles saw who had just walked into the bank from his position behind the counter, his whole day brightened. He did everything he could to finish with his customer quickly so that he could be the teller who served Benjamin Gray. The Gray family had owned the local saloon since the town settled, nearly forty years before. It was because of the anchor that the Gray Saloon & Mercantile provided that the little town of Calico Springs thrived. People came to the town, to the great, unexplored west, to mine gold, but they stayed for the saloon. Benjamin, the oldest of the three Gray sons, had taken over the saloon just before Charles had arrived in Calico Springs. Even though Charles had been promoted to manager of the bank weeks ago, he still worked a teller shift on Thursdays, because he knew it was the day Benjamin made his deposits.

The two met during Charles’ very first shift at the bank, and, when the dreams began, he knew, with everything in him, that they were connected to Benjamin. Over the first few months, Charles slowly began to take a seat at the saloon after work, doing what he could to make the cold barkeep like him a little more. It was clear that Benjamin favored Charles to all the other customers, and, truly, most of the residents of Calico Springs. Charles generated any excuse he could to see Benjamin, going so far as to befriending Benjamin’s younger brother, Tommy. Those generated moments lead to these Thursday afternoons, where Charles got to talk to Benjamin without Benjamin being pulled away by someone else.

After just a minute or two, Charles finished with his customer and waved Benjamin over. Benjamin gave Charles a half-smile, one cheek dimpling under his neat stubble, and walked over to to Charles.

“Good afternoon,” Charles greeted him cheerily, pleased, as always, to see him.

“Hello, Charles,” Benjamin greeted, gently. It flooded through Charles’ chest. In the almost-year he’d been living in Calico Springs, Charles had only ever heard that voice directed at him. “I have this week’s deposits, all ready for you.” He slid his black, burlap bag full of money across the counter.

Charles accepted the money with a bright smile. “I’ll get this all taken care of for you,” he promised.

“I heard Tommy invited you to the Independence Day Festival,” Benjamin said, very casually, leaning against the counter. He said it quickly, in an attempt to keep Charles there for a few moments, not that Charles had been to keen on walking away, anyway.

“Yes, he did,” Charles nodded in confirmation. “It sounds like a lot of fun. Your family puts it together every year, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. Well, our family and the mayor’s family,” Benjamin shrugged. “But you can’t trust them with a simple birthday celebration, let alone the biggest festival all year, so we do our best. Mama takes it very seriously, she’s always so patriotic in the festival season. And you know my sisters love a good party.”

Charles chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. “So, I’ll be seeing you there?” He asked, softly, looking straight into Benjamin’s deep, dark eyes.

Benjamin’s breath caught in his chest. His mouth opened, then closed again as his his brain caught up to his heart, his eyes darting away for a brief reprieve. “I suppose I could make an appearance,” he stammered. “I think you could persuade me.”

Charles smiled even wider at Benjamin, his eyes looking over Benjamin’s face. His heart skipped to a happy little tune, fluttering around. “Would you mind escorting me around the festival?” He asked, hopefully.

Benjamin tucked his lips between his teeth and looked down at his hands. “The entire time? Wouldn’t you rather go with Tommy, and the boys?” He asked, softly, glancing up at Charles, just barely.

“If I had my choice, I’d go with you,” Charles admitted in a moment of bravery. Benjamin fought to keep the smile off of his face, and lost, hardly suppressing it. It only made Charles smile wider at him. “What do you say?”

Benjamin nodded, blinking rapidly. “Yes,” he whispered. “I say ‘yes’. I’ll gladly escort you to the festival.”

There was something so honey-sweet and gorgeously familiar in Benjamin’s eyes. Everything felt more alive, more real, than it ever had before. It felt like the dreams, like the love he felt every night since meeting Benjamin. What was one more little act of bravery?

“Can I ask you a question?” Charles asked, softly. “And you can say ‘no’, I’d understand.”

Benjamin shook his head and leaned in. “You can ask me whatever you’d like,” He agreed, easily.

“Have you been having any strange dreams lately?”

Benjamin’s face fell in surprise, his whole body straightening. “How do you know about that?” He hissed, his eyes sharp.

“I’ve been having these strange, vivid dreams every night since I met you,” Charles explained softly, his eyes darting around. He didn’t need anyone else listening to this part of their conversation. “They feel real, like memories, but they’re not exactly mine. Every night is a different story, a different part of history.”

Benjamin’s mouth hung open in surprise. He gasped for air and blinked a few times, looking anywhere but at Charles. He looked, a few times, as though he were going to start to speak, but fell short. “We can’t talk about this here,” he said, firmly, after a few attempts to find something to say. ”Come to the saloon when you’re finished here.”

He started to walk away, but Charles could never bear to leave things sour between them, even though this had less bite than the sweet lemon candies they sold at the saloon. “Benjamin,” he called. Benjamin stopped and looked at Charles. The last thing Charles wanted was for these dreams to scare away the only person he’s ever wanted to know. “The festival?”

Benjamin’s face twitched upwards in a way that Charles knew he’d never seen, but was still so familiar. He nodded to Charles, then turned and left the bank. The teller exhaled slowly and smiled softly to himself.

While it was difficult to focus for the remainder of his workday, Charles managed it. He took care of all of the deposits and withdrawals that came his way, and, when the appropriate time came, he sent the other tellers home for the evening and closed up the bank. He checked and double checked everything at the bank, lingering behind for a while. A certain, unfamiliar nervousness washed over Charles as he hurled closer and closer to a nerve-wracking conversation. Though their hands never so much as brushed, though they’d never had a conversation lasting longer than a few, spared minutes, Charles was absolutely mad for Benjamin Gray. He knew he wasn’t the only one, either.

The truth was, Benjamin was Calico Springs’ most sought-after bachelor. All the women swooned for him, and all the men wanted to be his dearest friend, if only in hopes of getting the occasional free drink. Benjamin was unendingly handsome, the eldest of the town’s most prominent family, and dashingly mysterious. No one had sparked any interest in the young Mr. Gray in many years. As far as Charles knows, he’s the first to get any kind of attention like this. And now, he knows that they’re sharing magic dreams.

Charles’ nervousness felt rightfully placed. And, frankly, it wasn’t a bad sort of nervous. It felt like the day Charles started his travels west, to find his destiny, only far more significant. His desire to spend a few minutes discussing the happiest of secrets with the object of his affections far outweighed his fear of rejection. Even if Benjamin ran Charles out of town after this, Charles would’ve at least gotten the luxury of talking so closely with Benjamin.

Charles locked the door to the bank behind him. His feet walked him down the dusty main road, to the saloon. The wooden door squeaked open, and Charles’ eyes immediately found Benjamin behind the bar.Upon hearing the creak of the door over the piano, Benjamin’s eyes snapped to Charles. He sort of smiled, then waved to the corner of the saloon, silently instructing him to sit, before he called his sister, Clara, behind the bar to take over.

Only a few moments after Charles found a table away from the few early patrons of the saloon, Benjamin joined him, swooping into the seat across from him. He put two whiskeys down on the table, sliding one across the grain of the wood to Charles. Charles accepted the drink with a smile.

Benjamin didn’t return the smile. He stared at Charles for a while, as though he were trying to read his mind. After a few moments, Benjamin brought his glass to his lips and downed half his drink in one go. “The dreams,” he croaked, putting his glass down on the table.

Charles sipped his own glass and looked down to Benjamin’s glass on the table. “The dreams,” he repeated.

“How do you know they started when you saw me?” Benjamin asked, jumping straight in. His stare didn’t give any room to back down. “You said they started when we met, but we met on your first day in this damn town, so how could you possibly know it’s because of me?”

“It was my third day,” Charles corrected.

“What?” Benjamin barked, his face tightening in confusion.

“And, I didn’t know it was you, at first,” Charles admitted, his eyes looking to Benjamin, but darting to the walls of the saloon to escape Benjamin’s intense stare. “But they got more real, the more I talked to you. And, every time I have one of them, you get more and more familiar to me. Like I know you, because of the dreams.”

Based on the look on Benjamin’s face, Charles knows the other man feels the same way. Benjamin let out a breath, sagging into his chair. “That first dream,” he sighed, finally adverting his intense gaze from Charles. “I’ve never felt cold like that. Never. Even in wintertime, it hardly snows here in Calico Springs. I’ve never felt such an icy sting on my face, but when I woke up, I could feel it still, so cold it burned, especially against the heat of August. There’s no that my head could’ve concocted that. It was real. They’re all real. The dreams feel more real than this life does, sometimes.”

Charles remembered it well, more accurately than most of his hazy childhood. He nodded in agreement, leaning into Benjamin as he spoke. “Were you the Chief’s son?” He asked, softly. “In the first dream?”

Benjamin nodded, just barely. “And you were the wandering man?”

“Yes,” Charles breathed. On his exhale, he smiled. “Are you the man in all of my dreams? The Prince? And the loomsman, and the goldsmith?”

Benjamin nodded again, his eyes getting misty. Silence lingered around them as the truth settled. “What does it mean?” He whispered, leaning into the table, into Charles, like a magnetic pull.

Charles smiled, his eyes roamed Benjamin’s chiseled face, committing every little pore and line to memory. “It means God brought me to Calico Springs to find you,” he whispered, warmly. “Just like I found you a thousand times before, and I’ll find you again in the life that comes after this one.”

A very long pause hangs in the air around them. Charles tried to catch his breath as he looked over Benjamin. In turn, Benjamin allowed his eyes to roam around Charles’ features appreciatively. “I hoped it was you,” Benjamin decided, louder than anything else they’d said, as if he weren’t at all ashamed.

“Did you?” Charles teased, softly. Without realizing, he slid his elbows onto the table, to try and lean a little closer to Benjamin.

“About a thousand people have been through this podunk town, and none of them have ever been like you,” Benjamin accused, as if it weren’t what Charles was most proud of.

“And what am I like?” Charles prodded, pretending to cover his cocky grin.

Benjamin narrowed his dark eyes at Charles. “Overly confident,” he sneered, though Charles got the inkling that Benjamin liked that about him. “Mercilessly charming. Very refined.”

“Refined?” Charles echoed in amusement. He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m not refined.”

“More refined than most of the brutes in this town,” Benjamin argued, and he had a very valid point. Most of the men in Calico Springs were ranch hands, train workers or panhandlers. Charles managed the town bank, which made him one of the most refined men in town. “Though, I would agree. It isn’t very refined to wear such an ill-fitting suit everyday.”

“Ill-fitting?” Charles parroted, a wide grin on his face. He leaned back to expose his body, and his suit that was, admittedly, too big.

“Not to say that you aren’t dashingly handsome and well-dressed,” Benjamin backtracked, repressing a smirk of his own. “But there’s always room for improvement.”

Charles’ eyes wandered over all of Benjamin, unabashedly admiring him. He’d allowed his eyes to linger upon the handsome barkeep many times before, but never so close, and never for so long. “I don’t see any room for improvement before me,” he retorted.

“Why, Charles,” Benjamin smirked, “I hadn’t pegged you to be such a flatterer.”

Charles’ grin grew even wider. “I’m not usually inclined towards flattery,” he admitted. “But you seem to inspire something all-together different in me. Something no one else ever has.”

Benjamin’s eyes rolled back as he leaned against the back of his chair. His lips pursed, but Charles could see the beginnings of a pleased smile from across the table. “I seem to share the sentiment,” Benjamin admitted, softly. His eyes opened to meet Charles’, and he smiled, a true smile. “If these dreams we’ve been sharing are to be believed, then I think it’s safe to say that no one else ever will.”

Somehow, Charles’ grin grew three sizes, so warm and bright, the sun held no candle. He lifted his drink. “Well, cheers to that,” Charles toasted.

Benjamin clinked his glass with Charles’, then brought it to his lips. They sipped their whiskeys together. Before either of them could say anything else that was witty and charming, the piano player abruptly stopped playing his tune. Benjamin leapt out of his seat to stop a fist fight before it began. All Charles could do was smile as he watched the man of his dreams conduct his rowdy business.

Once the tension was sufficiently resolved, Benjamin looked over to Charles, silently asking if he’d stay. There was nowhere else in the world Charles wanted to be. He stayed long after the sun set below the horizon, after the supper crowd came and went. All night, Benjamin gave him soft, little smiles as he topped up his drink, stealing any spare moment they could get. When it was all done, when the town was quiet and the saloon was locked up, Benjamin walked him home, and Charles kissed him on the cheek.

At the Independence Day Festival, the two men had a grand time together. The Gray family truly outdid themselves that year, it was one that no one would ever forget. Benjamin slipped the Ferris wheel operator two dollars to stop them at the top of the wheel when the fireworks started. Every cent was worth it, to watch Charles’ face in awe of the sight. It was there, at the top of the Ferris wheel, during the dazzling display, that Benjamin leaned in and kissed Charles for the first time.

-

“David?” Patrick snaps David out of his very intense wall-staring session.

“Huh?” David says, so eloquently.

Patrick smirks fondly at David. Now that things are slightly more concrete before them, David has started noticing these fond, little smiles directed at him. “Are you okay?” Patrick asks, softly.

“Oh, yeah,” David shakes himself out. “Sorry, I’m a little out of it today.”

“Rough night?” Patrick sympathizes.

David’s brows furrow as he tries to figure out the answer to that question. Yes, he had slept on his parents’ floor while his and Alexis’ room was rented out to someone else, because of the dead body, but he’d actually slept decently well. “I’ve been having some weird dreams,” he admits with a nod. “The arrestingly realistic type. They kinda have me in my own head today, I guess?”

Patrick nods in understanding, his eyes dropping back to his work. “I’ve been having weird dreams, too,” he offers, kindly. “I mean, weird for me. Dreams are always weird, but these aren’t like regular dreams.”

David smirked at Patrick from across the store. “Night terrors about our impending fiscal doom?” He jokes, lightly.

Patrick laughs. “No, no,” he shakes his head, grinning widely at David. “No, just-. Different. mine are pretty realistic, too. You know, actually, I used to have dreams like this when I was a kid. Once or twice when I was a teenager, but not like this.”

His eyes linger on David in a way that warms David from the ends of his hair to the tips of his toes. “Yeah, same,” David agrees, with a vague gesture between them, despite a majority of the store being betwixt them. “I used to have the same kind of dreams, once. They started after this stupid baseball game my dad dragged me to when I was, like, thirteen.”

Patrick contemplates that for a moment or two. “Mine started after a baseball game, too,” he realizes, how light brows furrowing. “I don’t really remember the game, but I do remember a guy giving me the last box of Cracker Jacks.”

The memory lights up in David’s mind. He gapes at Patrick for a moment. “I think-,” he stammers. “That was me? I mean, there was one time, I gave a little boy a box of Cracker Jacks at a Blue Jays game, and he gave me the sticker inside, but-?” His face screws up in disbelieving confusion. “Was that you? That little boy had curly hair.”

“You remember what my hair looked like?” Patrick smirks, always ready to tease David a little bit.

“Is that really the important detail right now?” David arches an impatient eyebrow.

“Well, you’re the one who remembered the texture of a little boy’s hair,” Patrick prods, but very gently.

“Okay,” David narrows his eyes at Patrick. “You really don’t have to make it creepy. I extended one, singular act of kindness to one, singular child, okay? And he was nice.”

“Oh, you mean, I was nice?” Patrick keeps on teasing, the fondest smile on his face. His feet drag him slowly through the store, to get a little closer to David.

“You gave me a sticker!” David defends himself.

“It was very sweet of you to give up your food,” Patrick grins, still pointedly not calling David ‘nice’, from the day before. “I know how you feel about that kind of thing.” He’s close enough to David to reach out and gently grasp his shoulders.

David rolls his eyes, like this is physically painful for him. Suddenly, his eyes snap open and narrow at Patrick. “What was your dream about?” He asks, forcefully.

Patrick jerks backward in surprise. “Last night?” He asks. David nods, nearly impatient. “Uh. Well. It was old times. Like, really old times. Like what Aladdin wished it could be. I was a merchant, and I got invited to this really fancy party, for a Prince and his new wife, but he wasn’t really a Prince.”

David’s eyes examine Patrick in grueling detail. “He was a servant, pretending to be a prince,” David fills in. “And he loved the merchant instead.”

“How-?” Patrick starts, but David cuts him off.

“They fell in love as boys, and then were separated for many years,” he retells, remembering with vivid accuracy the contents of the dream. “But as soon as they saw each other again, they were just as in love as they were before.”

Patrick’s face opens in wonder as he listens to David speak. “You’re the Prince, aren’t you?” He realizes in a bare whisper. David swallows and looks away. “Are you the man in all of my dreams?”

David pulls his lips between his teeth, rubbing at their seam as he debates his answer. “I was going to ask you that,” he whispers, meeting Patrick’s eyes.

They don’t say anything for a few, long moments. They just stare at each other, taking in the other’s inexplicably familiar face. They’ve done this a thousand times before, realizing that they share dreams of their past lives together. This look is habitual, it’s constant. It’s a look that has appeared on every incarnation of their faces, when they inevitably come to the realization that this is it.

“It feels very early in our relationship to be coming to this conclusion,” David breathes.

Patrick smiles his fond-for-David smile. “I’m pretty sure we’ve been doing this dance since the Ice Age,” he supplies, which isn’t exactly helpful in this situation. David frowns in discomfort at him. “David, it’s okay. This doesn’t have to affect our relationship.”

“Mkay, but it does, though,” David grunts, his face tightening further. “Like, it actually does progress our very new relationship literally thousands of years into the future.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Patrick says, but he can’t hide his amused smile.

“I’d say I’m being the right amount of dramatic,” David argues.

“People spend their entire lives worried if the right partner is out there for them,” Patrick reasons, very patiently. “We know that this is right. That’s half the battle. Now we don’t have to worry about whether or not this will work out. We already know it will.”

David grimaces. “Okay,” he breathes, ready to argue more about this. “If my hunch about all of this is right, then we have a roughly a thousand lifetimes to remember, and I’ve had a steaming hot twenty-five dreams, max. So, you definitely don’t know for sure that this is going to work out.”

Patrick gives him an impatient look. “Do you honestly think this would be happening if it wouldn’t work out for us?” He asks. He’s not being rhetorical, he expects an answer.

David sags and huffs softly. “Maybe,” he spits, petulantly.

Patrick’s eyes dart down to David’s lips, a smile barely gracing his own set. Slowly, he leans in and kisses David, a tender brush of the lips that has David’s heart hammering. His arguments die in Patrick’s kiss. He has to admit, he’s chased this exact feeling in other people’s lips since the very first dream, all those years ago.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Patrick murmurs, a hair from David’s lips.

“Um, that’s not exactly the word I’d use,” David keeps arguing, his eyes looking anywhere but Patrick.

“What word would you use?” Patrick prompts, his head tilting to the side.

David’s eyes snap to Patrick’s with a certain intensity in them. “Uncomfortable?” He squeaks.

Patrick’s brows raise in surprise. “This makes you uncomfortable?” He asks, his grip on David’s shoulders loosening so he can take a small step back.

“No, no!” David backtracks, shaking his head quickly. “I mean. A little? But I don’t know when the last time was that I wasn’t uncomfortable? It’s, like, a natural state for me.” That doesn’t do much to ease Patrick’s concern. “No, I’m-. I’m just a little. Apprehensive. I guess. I don’t trust anything that just falls into my lap anymore.”

After a lingering moment, Patrick stops fighting the grin that slowly spreads on his face. “Well, I wouldn’t say I just fell into your lap,” he teases. “We haven’t gotten even gotten to second base yet.”

David frowns. “Well, we could’ve, if you’d let me stay over last night,” he complains. “I mean, I had that dream, last night, squished between my mother’s side of the skirting board, and my sister, while I was sleeping on the ground. Because there was a dead body- a dead body!- at my place of residence. I mean, what kind of soulmate abandons me at a motel with a dead body?”

Patrick’s amused grin only grows. “Oh, am I your soulmate, David?” He purrs.

David gapes at Patrick, his eyes wild and his jaw dangling. “Are you always going to be this frustrating?” He asks, nearly hostile.

“In every lifetime, baby,” Patrick teases, stepping into his space to kiss him again. All David can do is melt into him. No one else would frustrate David and make him swoon, all at once. No one else had wanted to tease him just as much as they wanted to kiss him. When Patrick pulls back, David chases his lips. All Patrick can do is keep extending kisses to David, who keeps begging for more.

When a customer walks in, the bell jangling cheerily, they pull back so Patrick can smile at the intruder. David groans softly, his head falling forward to rest on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick laughs at him, patting him on the back gently. He lifts David’s chin to kiss the corner of his mouth before he walks away to help their customer.

The conversation is far from over, and David is still just as perturbed at the concept of talking all of this out, but he’s not afraid. He hasn’t been afraid of anything since he walked into Ray’s a few, short weeks ago. That realization hits David like a train. He watches, bewildered, as Patrick assists a customer through scents of hand creams. When Patrick looks up at him, David quickly looks away before remembering that he’s allowed and encouraged to look.

David checks out the customer with no fuss at all, complimenting her choice. He wishes her a good day as she exits. He pretends that he doesn’t see Patrick slowly walking towards him out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m not afraid,” he asserts, loudly, even though Patrick is close by. He turns sharply to look at Patrick, dead in the eye.

“I believe you,” Patrick says, with a confidence that is annoyingly attractive. “I don’t want you to be.” David worries the inside of his lip with his teeth. “David, I think this is a great thing. You have no idea how long I have been trying to find the right path, and now I know that it’s this one, with you.” He smiles a little at David, leaning against the counter. “Maybe it’s a little fast, but we’ve had a thousand lifetimes before this one.”

Patrick has this way of making anything sound logical. His words ease David. “Okay,” he breathes. He knows that, if this were one of the many romcoms he’d watched, he’d be screaming at himself to just fall into this. There’s a big part of David that wants to. But he can’t, not yet. There’s a very thick layer of protection David armed himself with years ago that he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to fully shed. He’s willing to try, though. For Patrick.

-

How many works of art, still praised so highly today, were created in honor of the truest love ever shared? How many sonnets are still recited today that we’re penned in the wake of inspiration from that unending, unconditional love? How many sculptures and statues in monument to them are still in perfect condition? When Michelangelo sent poetry, detailing dreams, to who is now known as his close friend, when he crafted David and painted well-loved faces onto the ceiling of great churches, did he know that his never ending story would be truly immortalized? When the empire Caesar built for Augustus changed hands, did they know how many waves they’d cause? When Hadrian convinced the world to praise his Antinous as a god after his untimely death, did he know they’d praise his beloved for hundreds of years, that they’d build many beautiful temples in his honor? When Shakespeare scribed in detail how his love bloomed, did he know that, hundreds of years later, those scriptures would be the basis of many a love story?

They never know, not until the next time, the next awakening. They have to wait, until their impact is fully felt by the rest of the world, for them to understand their own gravity. Real, lasting history never feels as though it’s being made while the time passes. In the moment, they are only two lovers, sharing something extraordinary. The memorials of their love that withstand time are mere pickings of an infinite anthology, one neither will ever truly be happy with, because nothing could ever come close to the level of perfection required to convey their love. As legendary as they became, as well-remembered as some of their lives are, the true trophies of their love are locked away in their minds.

David can’t recite Sonnet 108 by heart, but he knows how he once felt when a pre-Patrick first penned it. Patrick doesn’t remember the bloodshed and anguish that came with protecting an Emperor, but he remembers the tenderness in a powerful man’s eyes every time he’s caught singing to himself. They feel the ripples of their own love in places they don’t expect. More than that, they find moments worth cherishing among moments already remembered for them.

They don’t talk a lot about the dreams, as their relationship progresses in this life. Sometimes, Patrick will repeat tender words he’s said before, or David will scour the internet for proof, but usually, the dreams are, for the most part, left unspoken. It becomes a shared secret between them, something for just them. They don’t have to discuss the inner workings of thousands of years of love, they just know, without a shadow of a doubt.

When they do talk about their dreams, it’s in the quiet hours of the morning, before either of them have gotten out of bed. After sweet dreams of long lives, Patrick holds David close. When the dreams show stunted lives, or they learn the lives of two ships, passing in the night, Patrick holds David even tighter.

This morning, when Patrick opens his eyes, David’s already in his arms, slowly blinking awake. Without any hesitation, Patrick pulls David a little closer and kisses the top of his head, because he feels David tremble in his grasp.

“I don’t like that one,” David mumbles, half-asleep.

“No?” Patrick prompts, though he’s in agreement. Of all the dreams they’ve had so far, this one is definitely near the bottom of the barrel.

“They were so young,” David breathes, his nose nestling into the crook of Patrick’s neck. “We were. We barely had any time together.”

Patrick bends his head down, just slightly, to kiss David’s forehead. “We were happy together,” he whispers. “We didn’t have to fight to be together.”

David huffs, picking up his head to look at Patrick. His look is too withering for so early in the morning. “That outweighs dying, tragically, at a young age?” He groans. “We were younger than we are now. That doesn’t seem fair.”

Patrick chuckles, softly, consciousness slowly creeping in. “I’m pretty sure I just heard you say that,” He jokes.

“Patrick, this is no laughing matter,” David huffs, croaking with sleep that lingers nearby. “We died.”

Patrick gives him a look, half confusion and half amusement. “That’s sort of how this goes,” he keeps joking, because he only ever wants to have his former lives be positive memories, even if they’re not happy. “We find each other, we fall in love, we die, then we do it again. We have, what, three, four hundred nights worth of memories to prove that?” David frowns, dropping his face into Patrick’s shirt. Patrick rubs a soothing hand over his back. “Two nights ago, you were a feared emperor and I was your faithful body guard. Two weeks ago, I was the greatest writer in human history, and you were my muse. Tonight, maybe we’ll dream of our longest life together. In the next life, we’ll dream of our little store, and our friends, and our wedding, and we’ll be happy that we got this life.”

That sounds like heaven to David.


End file.
